Reign of Mist

by Helen Scheuerer

  ‘Bleak …’ The voice was distant. ‘Bleak!’ Sahara was at her side. ‘Bleak, Eydis and Henri would want him alive. He’s more use to us alive.’

  Bleak didn’t let go. She didn’t want him alive. Not after what he’d done to her. To Bren. To a thousand others before.

  ‘Bleak!’ Fi’s deep voice boomed. He wrenched her away from Langdon. ‘We have to go.’

  Fi, bloodied and breathless, pulled Bren’s limp arm across one shoulder.

  Bleak shoved Langdon’s unconscious body away and rushed to them.

  ‘Tie him up and bring him,’ she heard Sahara say to Petra.

  ‘You really think that bitch will negotiate for him?’ the Valian said.

  ‘No, but when opportunity presents itself, don’t knock it back.’

  Bleak and Fi hauled Bren out of the torture cell, kicking aside the dead guards, with Bren’s bare feet dragging through the blood that pooled atop the stone floor.

  ‘Fi – the others,’ Bleak panted beneath Bren’s weight.

  ‘No time,’ Fi managed. ‘This place could be swarming with guards at any moment.’

  ‘But —’

  ‘No. We came for Bren. We have him. The rest is a battle for another day. If we get out alive. You hear me?’

  Bleak turned back and took in the sight of the cell doors, guilt twisting her insides. ‘Take him,’ she said to Fi. ‘I’ll be right behind you.’

  ‘Bleak!’ the captain yelled, as she snatched the keys back and bolted for the first cell.

  ‘I’ll open the cells, that’s it.’

  ‘All of them?’

  ‘All that I can. Please, take him.’ Hands steady, she unlocked the first cell, kicking the door in. She wouldn’t leave the Ashai at the hands of Ines.

  Something crashed and clattered to the ground. Bleak whirled around.

  Sahara was kicking down doors, the timber splintering beneath her boot.

  ‘We have to hurry,’ the Valian said.

  And so, Bleak went to the next cell. And the next.

  Emaciated Ashai staggered from the darkness. Beneath their rags, their skeletal bodies were awash with wounds and filth. They shielded their eyes from the torchlight, flinching at the sound of more doors being broken in.

  ‘The stairs,’ Bleak shouted. ‘Up the stairs!’ There was no time to be gentle. This was make or break, now or never.

  Once the cells were open, they didn’t wait. She and Sahara sprinted up to the next level, and opened each cell there. Bleak didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. The faster she moved, the sooner she’d be back at Bren’s side.

  She worked in a trance, to a rhythm. Alarise. Alarise. Alarise. The name she’d kept hidden all these years comforted her as each door swung open, as more prisoners were set free. She didn’t know if they’d manage to get them all off the island, but it didn’t matter, not yet.

  Alarise. Alarise. Alarise. She could almost hear it aloud.

  Energised by some unknown force from within, Bleak ran, catching up with Fi and the unconscious Bren at the entrance of the formidable tower. Sahara was right behind her, taking over for Petra with Langdon. Bleak took half Bren’s weight on her shoulders, and looked around desperately for Henri. Bren needed help. Now.

  The beach. Torchlight illuminated the movement on the shore. Fi seemed to notice at the same time and they stumbled towards it. Bren hung lifeless between them as they dragged him across the shale towards the rest of the kindred. The Ashai, as though under a spell, lurched towards the water.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ Bleak cried as they reached Henri, Athene and Tilly. She blanched at the sight of them. Only scraps of their dresses remained, and their weapons dripped red.

  But Henri’s gaze was fixed on the sea before them. She palmed her katars.

  The crunch of a boat sliding onto the shore sounded. Bleak’s fingernails cut into Bren’s skin.

  A tall, dark figure led a host of soldiers from a longboat.

  ‘You know I can’t let you leave,’ said Commander Swinton, and reached for his battleaxes.

  Chapter 34

  As Swinton took a step towards Fi and the Valians on the shores of Moredon Tower, his battleaxes felt heavier than ever before. They were not alone. Behind them, dozens of Ashai prisoners stumbled across the dunes. Ashai that, in one way or another, he’d helped put here. His feet were bricks of lead.

  Moonlight streamed down on them all. The Valians and Fi were bruised and battered. Fi … The friend he’d trusted with everything he held dear. The friend who’d betrayed him. The Battalonian shifted nervously, adjusting the weight of the unconscious, half-naked Bren across his broad shoulders, with Bleak on the other side.

  Swinton heard the scrape of steel being unsheathed as his soldiers disembarked and awaited orders. Amidst the sorry sight before him, Swinton caught Henri’s gaze. He baulked. No, not Henri – he knew Henri, knew what to expect when they locked eyes. A hatred that ran so deep it could pierce to the core. The moss-green eyes that met his now held something else.

  ‘I think he remembers me, Henri,’ the woman said.

  Swinton stared. Henri stood beside her mirror image. Both women were clad in ripped gowns, blood splashed across their bare skin, fire in their eyes.

  ‘You met once before,’ Henri said evenly, her voice matching her sister’s. ‘When we were children … He paid his respects at your memorial, though.’

  Sahara of Valia stepped forward, red already dripping from the blade she held. ‘So I heard. Though that’s not what I’d call it …’

  ‘Brother,’ Fi cut in, his voice hoarse. ‘You don’t have to do this.’

  ‘You gave me no choice,’ Swinton spat, feeling the soldiers restless beside him.

  ‘Gave you no choice? There is always a choice, old friend.’

  ‘An action made with a knife to the throat is no choice. And I’m not your friend.’

  ‘There is no knife to your throat now.’

  There was always a knife to Swinton’s throat. Always. And Fi had never, could never understand that, even now. He would never know how deeply terror had latched its talons into Swinton’s heart. And how terror made a man do terrible things. But now … Now it was Fiore who had done a terrible thing. To Dash. To his son.

  Swinton was going to show him how it felt to have a knife to the throat.

  He lunged.

  Fi flung Bren away and ducked out of range.

  ‘Dimitri,’ Fi wheezed, finding his footing and lifting his sword. But Swinton would hesitate no longer.

  There was a shout from his new captain, and his soldiers charged. The clang of steel drowned out all else, and Swinton struck at Fiore again.

  ‘You betrayed me,’ Swinton spat.

  ‘Betrayed you?’ Fi blocked his blow and dropped to a roll.

  Swinton swung again, his axes singing through the cool night air. Fi snatched a discarded piece of wood from the ground and used it as a shield, the first of Swinton’s axes lodging deep, the second splintering it in half. Fiore flipped up on his feet, and Swinton caught his grimace of pain. The Battalonian was already wounded.

  ‘How can you call me traitor, old friend, after all I have done?’

  Everything around them faded. It was just Fi and him. Any other day, it could have been sparring in the training ring. Not this day. Swinton drove forward, swinging his axes, hearing a hiss of pain from Fi as one blade found its mark. Blood flowed freely from a cut on the Battalonian’s upper arm. Fiore cursed and adjusted his stance. Raising his sword, he advanced. And Swinton was ready. He parried to the left, feinted and kicked the back of Fi’s legs. The Battalonian staggered but didn’t fall. He struck back, his sword gleaming with the blood of who knew how many Moredon guards. Swinton sidestepped and deflected Fi’s blow with his axe. Fi spat blood and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  ‘This is wrong, Dimi. I don’t want to fight.’

  ‘I. Don’t. Care.’

  There was a shriek of pain from the beach, and Swin
ton looked up in time to see half a dozen fire arrows rain down. They found their marks in his soldiers, who screamed as they caught alight. Swinton whirled round. At the crest of the dunes stood Sahara and Tilly, already nocking more arrows to their bows.

  Swinton scanned the shore, panting.

  How …? The kindred had been tired, wounded and outnumbered. And yet …

  Bleak was struggling beneath Bren’s weight as she dragged him to one of the rowboats. Two Ashai prisoners came to her aid, lifting the Angovian into the boat. Henri was calling to her kindred, who were running down the beach. His men … His men were surrendering … or dead. He turned back to Fi.

  ‘You did this,’ he said, his voice low.

  ‘Dimitri,’ Fi said, his eyes pleading. ‘Look around you. Arden did this. Ines did this. The people you serve.’

  ‘The people you did serve. Where is your loyalty?’

  ‘My loyalty is to the people. The people Ines and her lapdogs are imprisoning, slaughtering. Your people. Your kind. Your son’s kind.’

  Swinton’s axe went flying. ‘My son? What about my son, Fi? Where is he? What did you do?’

  Fi dived, the blade missing him by a mere inch.

  In the distance, Swinton heard Henri’s voice order the kindred and the freed Ashai to the boats. From the corner of his eye, he could see the first boat push off into the water, and the remains of his men bleeding on the beach.

  ‘Fiore.’ Henri approached them, katars drawn and ready. She eyed Swinton with deadly calm. She would end him here, he realised. Her katars would find his heart, and she would find the retribution she so badly sought.

  ‘Go,’ Fi said quietly. ‘This is between us, Henri.’ The Battalonian picked up a discarded shield.

  Henri paused, glancing between them. Her grey-green eyes were cold as they considered Swinton and weighed up her thirst for vengeance. But then she looked to Fi, gave a curt nod and left.

  Swinton took a deep breath and faced his old friend. ‘You were supposed to save my son,’ he said softly, dropping his remaining battleaxe and drawing his sword.

  ‘I —’

  ‘Where is he?’ Swinton roared. ‘I couldn’t see him. I couldn’t feel the thread. What did you do to my son?’ Rage pummelled through him like a wave, and he struck Fi’s shield over and over with his sword. He didn’t care for his exposed middle, he didn’t care that Fi took longer and longer to recover, to stand. The dull thud of steel upon shield spurred him and his fury on.

  ‘Where is my son?’ he bellowed.

  His secret was no more. He would shout it to the edges of this gods-forsaken spit of land, where already so much pain and sorrow had seeped into the sand and shale.

  ‘He’s alive, brother.’

  Swinton struck again.

  ‘He’s alive.’ Fi cast aside his shield. He threw his hands up, leaving his heart exposed, offering Swinton the killing blow. ‘Much changed, brother, but your son is alive.’

  Swinton fell to his knees. ‘Where.’

  ‘Wildenhaven. Guarded by a host of Valians, teerah panthers and Queen Eydis’ army.’

  Swinton choked. ‘What?’

  Fiore sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘I told you I would look after him as my own. And so I have.’

  ‘But have you? I couldn’t feel the thread, the —’

  ‘We did what we had to do to save him.’

  Hot tears stung Swinton’s eyes.

  ‘Dimitri, he looks … He looks just like you.’

  ‘He’s just a boy.’

  ‘He’s a man now.’

  Swinton’s heart sank. ‘What?’

  ‘It was the only way.’

  Swinton gripped his dagger. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘He was aged, so his body and mind were strong enough to fight the disease. It was the only way we could save him, old friend. The only way.’

  The last boat was being pushed into the water, kindred and Ashai side by side.

  Fi was looking at him, a sad smile behind his warm, kind eyes. ‘He’s very much like you,’ he said.

  ‘I hope he’s nothing like me, Fi.’

  ‘Come with us,’ said Fi, lurching to his feet.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘There is always a choice, Dimitri.’

  ‘Fi —’

  ‘Do you remember what I told you when I left Belbarrow?’

  Swinton swallowed. He would remember those words until the day he died.

  Someday soon, you are going to have to accept who and what you are.

  ‘I can’t come with you,’ he told Fi.

  ‘For Liir’s sake!’

  ‘I have to get back to the princess. She’s in danger … I had a vision. Arden … Arden will kill her, Fi. And she is Zachary’s friend. His only friend. An innocent, left amidst the vipers, Fi. I have to do right by her … I can never face my son if I don’t.’

  ‘You gave her the letter?’

  Swinton shook his head. ‘I … I destroyed it.’

  ‘Will she believe you without it?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I have to try.’

  Fiore bowed his head.

  ‘Go,’ Swinton said, nodding towards the last boat. ‘You can still catch them.’

  Fi shook his head. ‘Old friend, my place has always been, and always will be, by your side.’

  ‘Zachary —’

  ‘Is in good hands, brother. You have my word.’

  Swinton and Fi stood on the shore, watching as the boats reached the moored ship in the near distance. Fi waved to them, and a lone hand waved back. Bleak. A thank you. A debt.

  Swinton turned to his brother-in-arms, remembering his words.

  I would like to know that man, to fight alongside him.

  In front of the remaining wounded Ellestian and Battalonian soldiers, Commander Swinton arrested Captain Murphadias for high treason. The captain was badly beaten, his broad nose broken, his hand clutched to an open wound at his side. Swinton put him in irons and shoved him roughly into one of the rowboats. He pulled his face into a look of utter disgust as he turned to face his men.

  ‘We tend to our wounded, and then it’s back to the ship. We sail for Battalon,’ he barked.

  As they rowed towards the ship, Swinton warily eyed the mist. It was closer than when they had anchored. He’d seen much mist in his time, more than he cared to admit, more than he ever would admit, but it made it no less terrifying. Each time he’d released a jar under King Arden’s orders, he’d watched it, for as long as it was safe. It wasn’t natural. It acted as though it had a will, a mind of its own. From the sturdy deck of the ship, he watched it now. Its movements seemed to answer his thoughts, seemed to sense the magic that thrummed beneath his skin, even with his talisman coin protecting him.

  ‘Commander?’

  Swinton whirled around. A young guard sporting a blooming bruise on his cheek was waiting.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What should we do with Captain Murphadias?’

  ‘Ex-Captain,’ Swinton snapped, forcing away the thought that it wouldn’t be long until he was ex-Commander …

  ‘Apologies, Commander. What should we do with Ex-Captain Murphadias?’

  Swinton followed the guard’s gaze to where Fi stood, unsteady on his feet. ‘Put him in the brig,’ he said sharply. ‘And clean him up, will you? Can’t have him die before a trial.’

  The journey seemed to take forever; they had none of Arden’s magic aiding them upon their return. Every night that passed left Swinton feeling more and more uneasy. How long until Princess Olena was no longer safe? How would they get to her in time? And once they got to her, what would they do? How would they convince her of all that was occurring? Whom within the shiprock could they trust?

  Swinton had no doubt that by the time they reached Belbarrow, the realm would know of his treachery. He would enter Battalon’s capital as an outlaw, alongside Fi. A leader of the Ellestian armies, fallen far, far from grace. His mother and father would be shamed, perhaps e
ven stripped of their titles … His gut clenched. Questions and scenarios plagued Swinton, and with Fi locked down below in the brig, he was left to ponder their answers in solitude. He wished he could risk his power, but with the mist so close and his magic so fragile, it seemed reckless. So he stayed in the captain’s cabin, poring over maps of Belbarrow, over maps of the whole realm, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together as the ship drew closer and closer to the fire continent.

  The blazing heat from the shores of Belbarrow pulsed outward towards the ship and Swinton mopped the perspiration from his head with his sleeve.

  Gods, what are we going to do? He watched as two guards hauled Fiore up onto the deck. The captain looked worse for wear, trying to shield his eyes from the sunlight.

  ‘You two,’ Swinton said, pointing at the guards either side of Fi. ‘See if the others need help with the sails. I’ll watch the traitor.’

  Swinton seized Fi’s arm, and the guards hurried away towards the bow of the ship.

  Still holding Fi, Swinton leaned in. ‘Tell me you have a plan?’ he muttered to his friend.

  ‘They already know something is amiss,’ hissed Fi. ‘We won’t get far into Belbarrow before a host of guards greet us. We need to slip away. I can get us to the shiprock undeterred, but we need to leave. Now.’

  ‘Now? How do you suppose we do that?’

  ‘Jump.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Jump overboard. We’ll swim to the Bay of Gifts. It’s not far.’

  ‘Fi, what about the —’

  ‘We don’t have time.’ Fi was eyeing his irons pointedly. ‘Can’t bloody swim with these, can I, old friend?’

  Swinton swore under his breath as he subtly unlocked Fi’s chains. ‘Aren’t there sea serpents in there?’

  ‘Not many.’

  ‘Not many?’

  ‘If something bites you, punch it in the nose.’

  ‘I’ll bloody well punch you in the nose in a minute.’

  ‘Dimitri, now.’ Fiore had swung himself overboard, the only evidence a soft splash that sounded below.

  Heart in his throat, Swinton didn’t look back at the guards as he unstrapped his battleaxes and jumped.